


Featherless Bipeds

by urgaylol



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Hanzo learning how to be matronly, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, as for dark themes like nothing violent happens but talking about violent stuff does happen, but at least there's fluff, but not really, hastily established long-pining Hanzo, like not over the top but not really light, my shitty headcanons about McCree's family life, oh yeah dark themes, poor comedic timing if you read slow, pretentiously named, pretentiously written, references to movies that would be like a hundred years old when ovewatch is supposed to take place, so like idk read with care?, stunted emotional growth, the closest I've ever come to taking myself seriously, these tags are all out of order, weird combination of dark themes and my weird sense of humor, yes hello im not even 20 and i know what it's like to be a 40 year old assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urgaylol/pseuds/urgaylol
Summary: Alternatively named: The Time Hanzo Shimada Walked in On Jesse McCree Sobbing on The Floor into A Bottle of Whiskey(Update, now only one chapter because I said screw it and made the longer, alternative ending with all the references to movies no one has heard of the real ending)(Update2, i accidently deleted all the comments ops wops)





	Featherless Bipeds

**Author's Note:**

> Overwatch doesn't have death matches this week so what else was I supposed to do with my free time?
> 
> ...I just realized that my tendency for McCree to call Hanzo "Hanz" just looks like a typo woops. Also speaking of typos sorry if I missed a few, I'll go over it tomorrow night

Hanzo Shimada prided himself in his capabilities to hold his alcohol. A light buzz that left him with enough sense to enjoy the foolish, drunken acts of his peers was Hanzo's preferred state for the nights when Genji forced him to go out with the team after a mission.

However, as he struggled to keep his footing during the short, familiar walk across Watchpoint that sober, he could have done with his eyes closed and no legs, it became apparent that he was more than a little inebriated. 

He hadn't been this drunk since a darker chapter in his life, one that was luckily tucked away, at least for now. And his current drunkenness had been an accident, really. An empty stomach and Genji's poor influence were to blame.

Hanzo passed in front of Jesse McCree's quarters. Jesse had left the outing early, around eight thirty, which had nothing to do with Hanzo's sudden disinterest in the party. Why Jesse had vanished, Hanzo didn't know. Hanzo knew the man more than well enough to say that his early departure from friends and drink was strangely out of character.

Hanzo was lingering outside the door to Jesse's room, wondering how easy it would be to get Jesse to watch a movie with him without having to go to the humiliating trouble of asking outright when he heard it.

He first thought the sharp, convulsing sound was a blender going off, or maybe a creature with a distinct mating call stuck in Jesse's quarters. Curiosity was what lead him to press an ear against the door as he tried to determine if the noise was mechanical or from a living being.

The sound was foreign, choked and rough, and Hanzo was too drunk for puzzles. It was loud enough to warrant him concerned, and Hanzo twisted the knob for further research. Unlocked, the door swung opened, however it and its frame abruptly turned on their sides in a dizzying motion.

Wait, no, Hanzo had just fallen to the floor. Pushing the door further open with a finger on the base, he crawled inside, scooting along with his forearms. Once entered, he shut the door with his foot.

The sound of interest sputtered, and then stopped all-together as the door slammed closed. Strange. Hanzo slipped out of his boots and left them by Jesse's door.

If he had been sober, Hanzo would have picked up on the nature of the noise while he had still been outside the door, and then been on his way. But a drunken Hanzo's ears were as sharp as a sea-tossed brick.

Jesse was nowhere to be found in his tiny living room. Hanzo momentarily felt bad for barging in, but it was only nine o'clock, after all, and Jesse had burst into Hanzo's room completely plastered at much later times. Hanzo examined the decor as he searched for Jesse.

Jesse's quarters weren't disgusting, per se, but dirty clothes peppered the floor, and dishes were left unchecked across every open counter. Jesse's decoration choices were questionable, as were those of any American. A couch that didn't need to be made from leather, a record player than was just for show, and a heavy collection of knick-knacks, posters, a street sign, and paintings that all classed horribly with each other. The lighting in Jesse's place around this time of day was always dim and orange, the only brightness illuminating from a few soft lamps.

Hanzo had seen it all before. He had been to Jesse's place many times, usually to watch a movie or have a drink. They were friends, after all. Good, if not unlikely friends, ever since one very specific day, about three years ago.

(The day of Brigette's welcome party. Hanzo had called Jesse a dirty anarchist, Jesse had called him a bureaucrat, they had gotten into an angry and uncharacteristically clumsy fist fight, and afterwards Jesse had asked Hanzo out for a drink, during which he made Hanzo laugh whiskey out his nose. The whiskey had stung at the time, but in hindsight not as much as the realization that his long-lived, silent and reluctant crush on McCree wasn't going away. For as long as he could remember, Hanzo had thought the idea of falling in love seemed about as necessary as self-flagellation, and twice as humbling. The last year had slowly confirmed his suspicion.)

Returning to the present and physical, Hanzo retreated deeper into the living room. It came to his surprise when he caught eye of something hanging from Jesse's wall that he hadn't seen before, right above a lamp. It was a calendar. A pin-up calendar, turned to the current month of June. Hanzo stepped forward for a closer look, and was surprised to find the scantily-clad image portion of the thing wasn't featuring a woman, but a man. Jesse didn't seem like the kind of guy to keep such photos of other men, not because of any sexual preferences, but more his sense of style. Hanzo took another step towards it.

With an initial snicker and then a blush, Hanzo found the calendar picture was of Jesse himself. Shirtless and on his chest with his head twisted towards the camera and a cheeky smile plastered to his face as he tipped his hat, to be exact. His legs, decorated with signature chaps that only tightened his trousers in the position he was in were splayed, with about a foot of space between his knees, which pressed against the floor. His ass was tilted in the air and the focal point of the photo.

Hanzo had spent far too much of the last few years pondering over the nature of Jesse's sense of humor, never quite sure if it was simply too low of brow for Hanzo to fully understand, or rather so deeply profound that it alluded Hanzo's limited view of reality. Either way, it was strange.

Hanzo only allowed himself a few seconds to gawk at the calendar, not wanting to forget his original reason of entry: investigation. He did, however, snap a photo of the pin-up with guilty, fumbling fingers as he struggled to convince himself that the heat pooling in his belly was the result of his body miss-processing the pretty, sugary drinks Genji had kept handing him.

It occurred to Hanzo that there might be more pictures for the other months. But before he could lose his last few dwindling drops of self-respect, he caught ear of a few deep coughs coming from the bedroom.

After retrieving his lost center of gravity and tying it around his waist, Hanzo took a few further steps to enter Jesse's small room. As he passed through the empty door frame, he wondered if the piercing, convulsing sound that had brought him to these quarters in the first place had come from Jesse himself. For all Hanzo knew, the man could be bleeding out. 

But as soon as Jesse came into view, it became apparent what the sound had been. Something Hanzo had only heard first-hand in movies; an adult crying. More so, a grown man clocking in at a hundred and ninety pounds and sixty-million dollars worth of gritty life choices crying.

Jesse was sprawled out on the floor, head a few inches away from the frame of his bed and a half-empty box of tissues. Even at a good seven feet away, Hanzo could smell the alcohol waning off of him and the bottle clutched in his hand. Jesse's body was trembling and his breaths came out as shaky little puffs. His face was turned away, for which Hanzo was secretly thankful. He was much less decorated that usual, down to a flannel and his boxers. On a normal day, this might have made for a shamefully pleasant surprise, but at the moment simple made Jesse seem horribly exhausted and poorly-put together, presumably because he was horribly exhausted and poorly-put together.

A sober Hanzo would have leapt out the window, telling himself his choice to flee was because it was better not to overstep his boundaries (and not because he was a coward who couldn't handle seeing other people be so vulnerable). But none of that mattered right now, as Hanzo took a cautious step towards Jesse.

"One of these days you're gonna catch me doing somethin' downright embarrassing in here, Hanzo." Jesse said, the dry nature of his statement undercut with raspyness.

Hanzo was impressed Jesse had recognized him without hearing his voice or turning his hidden eyes. Jesse must have picked up who Hanzo was just from footsteps.

Hanzo pondered over what he'd want to hear if the situation was reversed.

"Do you wish me to stay?" Hanzo asked, quietly. "I would not conciser it a chore to stay."  

"Do what you please, though I can't promise you'll be in the best a' company."

Not completely sure where to sit but knowing it would be a bad idea to continue just standing, Hanzo situated himself to the left of Jesse's head, pressing his back against the edge of Jesse's bed. Hanzo still couldn't see McCree's face, as the man covered it with both his arms.

Jesse's hat was on the floor, farther from his person than Hanzo had ever seen him manage. Hanzo suspected Jesse might have even kept the thing on while he masturbated, or at least he did in Hanzo's private fantasies. But those were shamefully off-topic and far from what he should be focusing on.

Remembering suddenly that humans liked to be comforted, Hanzo reached out to Jesse's hair, ghosting the strands with a finger to inform his intent.

"May I?" he asked.

"Please do. May I?" Jesse asked back, untangling a hand from his face to tap Hanzo's thigh.

"If you would like."

Without switching from his original position, Jesse pulled himself a foot to the right to rest his head in Hanzo's lap, facing away from Hanzo's stomach. Hanzo threaded a hand through the messy brown hair in front of him, delighted by the softness. Jesse was no longer crying, but gravity had old tears wetting a nickle-sized patch of Hanzo's pants. 

"Is there anything you require?" Hanzo asked after a minute passed, horribly unsure what to do.

"You got one a' those old Bop It toys in that hip pouch of yours? I'd kill for a Bop It. They've kept me too distracted to hang myself many a time when the whiskey's run dry."

Hanzo chuckled, a bit horrified.

"I'm so drunk, Hanz." Jesse said, joining Hanzo in a snicker.

"And yet you continue to speak with the stylistic shortcomings of a failed newspaper comic."

"You use too many words, sweetheart. Just say 'fuck you' and move on. More efficient."

Jesse's voice was slurred, but Hanzo didn't notice. Hanzo's speech was also slurred, but if Jesse noticed, he didn't say. Anyone watching the two of them would have likely heard nothing but a nearly-unrecognizable exchange of rambling syllables. But at least Hanzo and Jesse were currently in the same state of mind.

Hanzo was more than a little curious about what had driven Jesse to cry. However, he knew better than to ask outright, and probably would have been too afraid to pop the question even if he hadn't.

Hanzo looked down to his left and found a square photo, about a foot away from his left hand. Perhaps it was what had gotten Jesse so stirred. Or, perhaps the picture was simply the result of Jesse's philosophy that cleaning was optional.

"What is this?" Hanzo asked, grabbing the image to show to Jesse.

Jesse tilted his head to get a look, and Hanzo got his first glimpse at Jesse's face. Nothing too different than usual. His eyes were bright red, especially around the edges, and the skin over the bridge of his nose was flushed. The wrinkles around his eyes stood out more than usual, and his face was set with deep, raw lines of sadness that came as a small, bitter surprise to see. The lines, however, folded away a bit when Jesse saw what Hanzo was holding.

"Oh, that?" Jesse replied. "Family members."

The picture was about the size of a book cover, and a bit crinkled but still in good condition. It featured a family on a ranch, and the dusty color pallet and nature of the people pictured made Hanzo assume the image was of Jesse's adult siblings and their children, back home.

Two adults, presumably a married couple stood tall. The full-figured woman looked to be ethnically on the lighter side of Latin American, or maybe Italian. A sad, closed-mouth smile painted her lips, and her hands were in a tight fold behind her simple, floral pattered dress. Hanzo could glean less information about the man, as his face had been scratched out until the white paper backing the photograph spotted through. From his dark, reddish hair, he appeared ancestrally Celtic, but his clothing and stature indicated he had been submerged in straight American culture since he was toddling. At one hip, he had a flask, and the other, one of the four children pictured.

Wait, there were only three children present. Hanzo had mistaken a tumbleweed for a child.

Two of the children, a boy and a girl looking to be around the age of ten, seemed perfectly happy to be alive. But the last child, the smallest, stuck close to his mother with dusty brown leather clothes, a Stetson strapped to his back, a six-gun on his hip, and a frown. 

Hanzo thought he looked about eight, and found him to be immensely the most fascinating entity in the picture. Where his two siblings had the glazed-over gaze of mediocre development, the third child had big doe eyes, attentive and critical, which Hanzo caught gazing uncertainly at the father. His hair was brown, short, and messy and his face was thin, like the rest of him. All of the children and their parents were covered in dust, but this boy was more dirt than flesh.

Hanzo was not one for finding children adorable, with their lack of shame and poor artistic skills. However, he would have to make an exception for this tiny thing, who looked ready to hold his own. The child radiated precocious energy, looking like he would semi-unwittingly drop a few cynical lines about the inadequacies of the American school system to his small-town teacher until her mouth twisted in shock.

"I want it." Hanzo said, pointing wildly at the photograph.

"You want the picture?"

"No. I want that."

Hanzo jabbed his finger more delicately at the boy.

'We will steal it from your family." Hanzo followed. "It is the most adorable thing I have ever seen. I want it to live in the breakroom and polish our shoes. Where is it?"

"Down and a lil' to the right." Jesse replied, tipping a hat that wasn't there.

Hanzo's ears flushed bright red and his plans to commit a major crime were brought to a halt.

"I thought this picture was taken recently. I was mistaken." Hanzo explained quietly, while Jesse snickered.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, with several hilts sprinkled throughout the photo telling of its old age. A car in the background of an old model, the styles of clothing slightly outdated.

"I am drunk." Hanzo continued, digging himself deeper.

"I know."

"What? How?"

"You don't use contraptions when you're drunk. I mean, you only use 'em about a third a' time when you're sober, but when you're smashed, you cut out apostrophes like your brother cuts out carbs."

A strange, misguided prick of flattery bubbled within Hanzo, sparked by the knowlage that Jesse had taken the time to notice something like that.

"Huh." Hanzo replied.

"Well, when you're drunk, and when you got good cards."

Hanzo's eyes widened. So that was how Jesse had managed to clean him out last Wednesday.

"Does that not strike you as a foolish thing to inform me of?" Hanzo asked. "Wait. _Doesn't_ that strike you as a foolish thing to inform me of?"

Jesse smiled and shrugged, a dangerously charming maneuver.

"Guess I care more about impressin' you with my powers of observation." he answered.

Hanzo's stupid dumb idiot moron heart pounded once, and then twice, so loud it echoed internally against his ears. Hanzo scoffed and turned his gaze back to the photo, needing a subject change.

"What's that?" Hanzo asked, pointing to a flag hanging high behind the family, on the side of their barn. The flag was built of the same colors as the traditional American one, but the pattern was different. The base was red, and a blue 'x' covered in white stars split the red diagonally.

"Oh, that?" 

Jesse rubbed the back of his head, and Hanzo thought he looked a bit sheepish.

"That's nothin'." Jesse finished. Hanzo dropped the subject.

Jesse pulled the photo away before Hanzo could wonder more about the defaced father, but kept it open in his metal hand.

"Show me an old picture a' you." Jesse requested. "Seems only fair."

Hanzo pulled out his phone and pulled up a photo Genji had just sent him, of the two of them back to back, happily munching ramen. Genji had been six and Hanzo had been eight, and at the time, pleased to be with his brother.

Glancing at the photo, Hanzo reminisced for a simpler years, when happiness was easy to come by and relations with Genji weren't tainted with layers of guilt.

Hanzo thrust the screen in Jesse's face. Jesse squinted his eyes.

"Oh, what a darling." Jesse whispered as his gaze softened.

Hanzo's heart sunk at Jesse's delight. By the time this picture was taken, Hanzo had already taken two lives. McCree certainly would not said or thought that if he'd known. 

"Our servants would not have agreed with you." said Hanzo.

Jesse raised two eyebrows, and shook his head. Not in a dismissive manor, it looked more like he was pondering.

"What is the meaning of that gesture?" Hanzo asked.

"Nothin'. Just, sometimes I forget that you ain't exactly from New Georgia."

A minute passed. Hanzo's undisciplined train of thought led him to imagine a young Jesse, growing up in New Mexico, getting into trouble. Hanzo had seen American families on television, but he could not fathom being as dirty or obviously poor as Jesse's family had looked.

It occurred to Hanzo that he still didn't know why Jesse had been crying.

Hanzo spent a few more minutes trying to decide if it would be worth it to ask about the obviously deliberate damage to Jesse's photo. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. 

"Why is your father belatedly not pictured?" asked Hanzo, looking down at the photo still in Jesse's hand.

Jesse was silent. For a long moment, Hanzo was horribly worried he had stepped over the line until Jesse said, dark and simple--

"Hard to look at a man's face after you killed him, no matter how much hate you still feel."

Hanzo's eyes widened, and he glanced down at his companion's head. Jesse McCree had secrets, some of which Hanzo knew and some he didn't. But major fratricide was far from something Hanzo would have suspected the man who flirted with old ladies and thanked the machine that gave him coffee every morning had under his belt. 

Hanzo was silent. Jesse would explain more if he wanted to.

"He wasn't good to mama." Jesse followed.

Hanzo read between the lines.

A tear splattered against the photo in Jesse's hand as he held it under his own gaze, right next to his mother.

Killing a parent was no small feat, but Hanzo had faith, even before Jesse's follow-up, that Jesse had been justified in his actions. Over the years, McCree had seized Hanzo's trust to the point where it left Hanzo feeling ethically inadequate; everyone Jesse decided to kill, everyone Jesse decided to spare, was calculated by a surprisingly rational mind and what Hanzo suspected was a sweetly simple innate sense of right and wrong. And maybe some guilt mixed in.

Personally, Hanzo was just sick of killing.

"Dad drank. Every day and every night." Jesse said. "Yeah, who'd a' guessed. My dad drank. I think he might have died of self-induced melancholy if he ever had to spend a second sober."

Jesse's voice began to shake. Hanzo stayed silent, and let him talk. 

"Any time any of us made any money, he ended up with it. Turned it into booze like a twisted magician, and we weren't goin' anywhere living like that."

More tears began to fall. Hanzo reached out a hand to turn Jesse's head and brush the drops away, but lost his nerve halfway through.

Jesse, however, grabbed his hand before he could pull away, dropping the picture and cupping Hanzo's hand with shaking metal and flesh fingers. Jesse pulled Hanzo's hand down and brought it to his lips, less of a kiss and more of a simple press.

"I saved money. Saved for a year, doing odd jobs. Before Deadlock. Hid it all under a rock, didn't trust to bring it in the house. When I was thirteen, I gave it all to a local deadbeat for a few bottles a' Tequila. Layed 'em all out on the living room rug when no one was home."

"You drank your father to death." whispered Hanzo as the realization dawned on him. Despite the absolute horror of the situation, and the obvious pain that Jesse was in because of it, Hanzo couldn't help but admire the brilliance of the plan; bloodless, too far from resembling a murder for anyone to get suspicious, and tastefully ironic.

"Well, he shoulda been good to mama." Jesse replied.

A moment passed, and when Jesse spoke again, it was more calculated.

"It wasn't like with you and your family, where clan pressures were fillin' your head with all these sick ideas." Jesse continued. "It was my own doing, at least as far as I can tell. And don't regret it, neither."

Jesse spoke as if Hanzo's poor choices had not been the result of a character flaw. Either Jesse was being kind, or very, very stupid.

"Maybe dad had some good in him that could have been brought out by a different upbringing, or somethin', I don't know. But in the end, it wasn't really about what he deserved. It was about what everyone else deserved." Jesse continued. "But I do wonder, wondered all my life..."

Jesse's shoulders began to quiver, and Hanzo heard his breath catch in his throat.

"I wonder if they're good." Jesse finished.

Hanzo didn't know who 'they' was, and didn't know what it meant for them to be good. But what he did know was that Jesse was now trying to choke back sobs, with little success rate.

Jesse turned and curled into Hanzo's lap, pressing his face into Hanzo's stomach, his entire form convulsing as he wet the silk shirt in front of his eyes.

Hanzo's jaw hovered unclosed with a start, and his eyes widened with surprise. It was probably for the best that Jesse couldn't see his face, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea about Hanzo's extreme uncertainty of what to do.

 _"I hope they're good._ " Jesse sobbed. " _Really want them to be good._ "

"Your family?" Hanzo asked, forcing the shake out of his breath.

" _Everyone._ "

Jesse sucked in a loud, piercing gulp of air.

" _I hope they're kind._ " Jesse sputtered as the heat from his tears nearly boiled through Hanzo's shirt. " _And not just surface kindness, where it's all for show or only until they see somethin' they don't understand._ "

Realization hit Hanzo. Jesse wasn't drowning in a pile of his own sorrow because of a specific incident or person. At least, not exclusively. Rather, it was broader than that. An insecurity about the nature of the species they were both a part of.

" _Just want 'em to--_ hic _\--love each other, be soft with each other, try to--_ hic _\--understand._ "

Internally blaming the alcohol, Hanzo wrapped his arms around the quivering man in his lap. Buried under the initial fear laid something else in Hanzo; a strange part of himself that was happy to be comforting burned bright.

They had never been this close before. Jesse had hugged him a few times, but never melted into him need. But thinking about that wasn't important right now.

" _I want it so bad, so bad for at least most a' them to have a little thing inside that cares, cares about each other more than money or power._ " 

Jesse's sobs were a chorus of tight breaths and muffled wails. They were a truly heartbreaking sound, deep and low and broken, and Hanzo felt silent tears of his own leak down his cheeks. He shifted his hand to wipe them before they could fall into McCree's hair, because this was about Jesse, not Hanzo.

 _"I know I'm not makin' any goddamn sense. I don't even know exactly what I mean. I just want the human soul to be something worth having faith in, you know?_ "

In all truth, Hanzo didn't know. He had never more than briefly pondered over humanity's goodness or lack of, and all of those moments had taken the form of speculation and examination of humanity's evolutionarily programmed desires to be socially sustainable. Jesse however, seemed to be speaking of something even more metaphysical, and with much more emotion.

" _But I'm so scared, so scared that ain't the case. They keep hurtin' each other, tearing each other down, sellin' each other out, blowing each other up by the hundreds and thousands, and I don't understand. Not that I'm goddamn near innocent._ "

Hanzo suspected Jesse was at least partially referring to his guilt about his time spent in Deadlock. Once, Hanzo had told Jesse that joining a gang was a statistical likelihood for a teenager who grew up in such a dirty, socio-economically depressed town, so it was unnecessary to feel bad. Jesse had _not_ responded well.

" _Some of the stuff I've seen_ \--"

Jesse wrapped shaking hands around Hanzo's middle. Hanzo stiffened, hopefully not enough for Jesse to notice.

" _Some of the stuff I've seen has made me ashamed to be human, Hanzo._ "

Jesse's choked words felt strange to Hanzo. He had never been ashamed to be human, only ashamed to be himself.

Jesse seemed to be done talking, but he stayed tight in Hanzo's arms, sobs softening but not completely receding.

A minute passed.

"I do not know what a soul is." Hanzo said, chin resting on Jesse's head. "I do not know if souls are real. I don't know if humans are inherently good, and I do not understand what it would mean for them to be inherently good, or not be. But I hope you will believe me when I tell you I truly believe humans are capable of good, whether it comes naturally to them or not."

Jesse sighed, convulsions turning into trembles.

"Although they are often misguided," Hanzo continued, "I have seen humans do many things that they believe will be good for more than just themselves. I have seen societies where people are taught only to harm when absolutely necessary. I do not know how the human race is fated, but I suspect they at least hold within them the capabilities of impressing you."

Hanzo felt more words forming on his tongue. Hard words to say, reveling words. He wanted to tell Jesse how different he was than the cold and violent people Hanzo had grown up with, how he had never seen such bravery and unbiased kindness and devotion in another man before.

He spent minutes carding through Jesse's hair, trying to force out the words and phrases before he finally managed to pry his mouth open.

The alcohal helped.

"You are one of the reasons I hold that belief, Jesse McCree." said Hanzo. He drank in a generous amount of air before continuing.

"When I see how deeply you carry the hope that humans hold altruism within them, it is sweeter to me than fine mochi. And its own counter-argument to your doubt, at least in my eyes." he finished.

Jesse hummed.

Minutes passed, and Jesse's silent tears began to subside. Hanzo did not loosen his grip on the man in his arms until his shirt was nearly dry.

Jesse pulled away, eyes shot and white streaks of dried salt striping his face. Hanzo's lap immediately became cold as it emptied. Jesse seated himself on Hanzo's left, but kept their shoulders pressed together.

"Thank you, Hanzo." Jesse said.

"It was nothing. Do not thank me."

"Blow it out your ass."

Hanzo snickered and placed his head on Jesse's shoulder, blaming the alcohol that was making everything warm and fuzzy for his choice. Booze were also blamed for the physical swelling in his chest when Jesse placed his own head atop of Hanzo's darker one.

"Somethin' about hearing words so sweet come outta your salty mouth makes 'em seem more true." said Jesse. "In response to your 'soul' monologue, I mean."

"Must an insult be buried in every compliment you gift me?"

"No, but I kinda got the feeling you wouldn't take it any other way."

It took everything Hanzo had to not turn both their heads and press the bridges of their noses together as they snickered.

"Sorry you had to see me cry, Hanz." Jesse followed after the laughter subsided. "I know that ain't really something you're comfortable with."

"Which is why it is good for me to witness."

Jesse smirked, and shook his head.

"What?" Hanzo asked.

"Here I am, sobbing about how scared I am that humans don't care 'bout each other, while you've been sitting here, doing nothin' but caring about me for twenty minutes." 

"Do not invalidate your sorrow, or your need to process it. You have seen humans do truly horrible things."

"Fair enough, doll."

A moment passed. Jesse nestled his ear further into Hanzo's hair.

"What's the worst thing you've seen?" asked Jesse, before tacking on, to Hanzo's relief, "Besides Genji."

Hanzo paused, relaying the events over in his mind.

"An enemy of the clan, skinned alive, for political reasons. I forced myself to watch." he answered.

"Jesus Christ. I'm sorry I asked." Jesse replied, drawling out the words in shock.

"As horrible as I am in eyes of many, justifiably so, and as much as I advocate for efficiency when a goal is plentiful, even at the time I knew there were other ways to continue to hold our power, and that our power was not worth the trouble, if there had not been alternate paths."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

Jesse was silent.

"I did nothing to stop it." Hanzo continued, a bit quieter, voice cracking with guilt.

To his bafflement, Jesse scoffed, dismissive.

"What?" Hanzo asked, brow furled.

"You know telling me this stuff, all about your personal failings, doesn't make me love you any less, right?"

It was funny, really, how humans needed to be loved by their families and friends and strangers on the bus, and their unflinching desire to be told. Hanzo's reaction to being told was possibly the most pathetic a human had ever had; to curl into his knees and start sobbing.

"Oh, honey." Jesse said, wrapping his arms around the tight ball that was Hanzo's form.

Hanzo muttered a string of apologies into his own lap, for losing his composure, and for ceasing to be comforting. 

"I don't mind none, you earned it." Jesse replied with a kind chuckle, as if what Hanzo had said had been ridiculous.

It had been a long, long time since he had sobbed, at least a few years. Crying wasn't something he had done much of growing up. Around the age of three, the proper time to teach children not to show weakness in such a pitiful, pointless display, Hanzo had learned to swallow the spot in his throat, bite his lip, clear his eyes. Even after attempting Genji's murder, any crying he did in a hotel room with a bottle of sake in hand was short-lived, forcefully unfinished, and unpleasant.

The last tears he had spilt were of joy, at Genji's wedding with Angela. They had been quickly wiped away before anyone had seen.

But this, being supported, the contact, the soothing voice, and slight rock in Jesse's arms had Hanzo on fire. His vision was a blurry mess, his eyes stung, and the noises he was making were embarrassing, but for some reason, the act pushed warmth into Hanzo's chest in a manor that he didn't understand.

Intoxicating vulnerability.

Hanzo began to shiver from the confusing pleasure as he cried. Jesse scooped him up, and pushed him a few feet into the air and onto the bed with a few tries and a few grunts. On the bed, Jesse pulled Hanzo under the blanket and snuggled up next to him, possibly having mistaken the shivering for cold or shock. Hanzo's face was pushed into Jesse's chest, a metal arm on his waist. Long, warm legs twisted with Hanzo's. 

Jesse was more affectionate than Hanzo had been, running his free hand through the grey chunks of hair at Hanzo's ears, pressing a kiss into the top of his head, holding him with such deliberation. 

It was too much. Hanzo didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to enjoy his time blubbering like a child, taking up so much of Jesse's time, and being loved so sweetly.

" _I do not deserve your affections._ " Hanzo heard himself say, sputtering as the very self-hatred his mind was trying to sort out halted the process in a vicious paradox.

"You deserve the whole world, sweetheart." Jesse replied with overwhelming certainty.

How anyone could say such a thing baffled Hanzo. Much less how someone who knew him so well could say it.

" _I have done horrible, terrible things._ " Hanzo sobbed, real on-the-nose. Hot tears pooled into Jesse's shirt and burned Hanzo's face.

"Yeah, well, if I ruled out everyone who'd committed some kinda atrocity from being fundamentally redeemable, I'd be cryin' about being ashamed to be human every night, instead a' once a year, usually in the bathtub with a bottle of scotch and a peeled avocado."

" _You are only proving my point with your foolish kindness. I do not deserve to be cared for by a man with such an uncorrupted desire to do the right thing. You must know that is not a trait we share, you must have gathered._ "

"I don't think you've ever had trouble wantin' to do the right thing, baby doll. I think you just had a bad understanding of what 'right' was."

Jesse McCree truly had a voice like Egyptian cotton. To be comforted by that voice was something else.

Sanctioned in his strange cocoon of love and affection, Hanzo confessed. He confessed his love for Jesse, both platonic and romantic, confessed how little he felt he deserved for it to be reciprocated, confessed what he was inevitably going to do to himself with the pin-up of Jesse he had stolen a photo of and a sock, and confessed the self-loathing that would come after. He confessed the horrible, debilitating guilt he knew when the sun was down and he was alone, and the terrible, crushing loneliness that stuck around, wherever he went, whoever he was with.

Not in English, of course. Jesse didn't ask for clarification, just held Hanzo's head against his chest until his tears subsided.

"It don't matter to me what you've done." said Jesse. "It matters to me what you do now. And I happen to think that when you let go of all that omnic racism, you'll be a downright paragon, only blowin' people into chunks when it's for the greater good."

There was an undertone of satire to the last part of what Jesse had said, but Hanzo recognized that it wasn't aimed at himself, but rather, Overwatch as a whole. 

"Sorry. Old grudge." Jesse followed. "Point is, watchin' you drag those children outta that burning Taco Bell yesterday and not make too many passive-aggressive comments towards the one that threw up on you justified your existence in my eyes."

Hanzo hoped very, very hard that Jesse was right.

"I will take it into consideration." Hanzo replied, the words soar in his raw throat.

"Hanzo, the world caused you pain, and you caused some pain on the world. You causin' yourself pain is just damn inefficient at a certain point." Jesse preached, like he was the heavy-handed lesson in a poorly written piece of fiction.

Jesse had said the words before to Hanzo, and Hanzo suspected he would say them again.

"Even so." Hanzo bickered. "I find myself indulging in the faces of those I've broken. I truly loath it. But--"

"Yeah, well, I loath shoving handfuls of lima beans straight up my asshole. The question is, why can't we stop?"

Hanzo snorted and barked out a weak laugh, his form shaking in Jesse's arms. 

"It is not that simple, you fool." said Hanzo, still smiling reluctantly.

"Hanz, look, you gotta move on."

The minutes passed as Hanzo thought, still enveloped in Jesse's arms.

"I do." Hanzo finally admitted.

"I'll be here to help you."

"Alright."

"We'll all be here."

"Thank you."

"Any time you need." Jesse said, squeezing Hanzo in his arms, just a tad too tightly.

"McCree."

"Any hour of the day."

"You're hurting me."

"Any day a' the year."

"I have to pee."

Hanzo worked his way from Jesse's death grip and twisted his way out of the sheets.

"Bathroom." he said.

"You know where it is."

Getting to his feet felt strange. His body was showing the signs of exhaustion, but he felt full of new energy as he made his way down the hall.

Washing his hands, he got a glimpse of his own face. He was a bit pink and his eyes had seen better days, but after running a cold towel over his features, even Hanzo had to admit that he had aged like fine wine.

At least he appreciated something about himself.

Hanzo passed through the kitchenette as he returned.

His stomach growled, an uncomfortable sensation. Hanzo stopped his pace, half a dozen feet from Jesse's door, and eyed Jesse's selection of food.  

Hanzo settled for a bag of chips atop a high counter, hungry and still drunk enough to go for Jesse's working class snacks. But before he could reach the crinkly, plastic bag of glorious sodium, there was a flurry of disorienting motion. 

A moment later, Hanzo was more than a little confused to find the ceiling on the floor and the floor on the ceiling. He rushed to assess the situation. 

He could feel pressure around his right ankle, and when he glanced up, he found that a rope was wrapped tight around his leg. After the initial shock wore off, Hanzo recognized it as a simple noose-trap, suspending him upside-down from the ceiling.

A simple noose-trap that Jesse apparently had lying on his floor.

Dangling from the ceiling, Hanzo rocked a bit until he finagled his weight to a static position, lower back pressed against Jesse's cabinets. His face was just two or three feet from the ground, with his loose bangs pointing in the direction of the floor tiles.

"McCree." Hanzo yelled, irritation bubbling in his tone.

"Hwat?" Jesse yelled back from the bedroom.

"Come here."

Hanzo positioned himself to look as cool as possible, given the situation. He bent his left leg, bringing his foot to rest against the back of his captured ankle as he sternly crossed his arms. A few seconds of shuffling and Jesse's knees came into view, attached to distractedly long legs that were still uncovered.

As soon as Jesse stopped walking, he started to chuckle.

"How's it hangin'?" Jesse asked between breaths. He sure seemed to be amused.

"Still more gracefully than you."

Jesse's laughter deepened.

"Never caught something with such a bite." said Jesse.

"Jesse."

"What?"

"Can you please explain to me," Hanzo started, pausing between every word, "why my feet not on the ground right now?"

Jesse's legs shifted, as if he was scratching the back of his head.  

"Sometimes when I get drunk I set up little traps. Make sure I don't eat too much food." Jesse answered, sounding sheepish. "Never seems like a good idea when I'm sober, but what does that fucker know?"

"Untie me, you imbecile." Hanzo ordered, his own snickering undercutting his wishes. 

Jesse took a few steps forward until Hanzo's face was right in his knees. However, instead of Hanzo being lowered to the ground, he was hoisted further into the air as Jesse pulled the other end of the rope up (running through a pulley around a high rafter above both their heads) and out. Hanzo's foot hit the ceiling, and his face was now at eye level with his idiot companion's.   

"This is not what I requested." Hanzo said, arms still crossed.  

Jesse didn't acknowledge him, and instead tied the rope, securing Hanzo in place. The pink was subsiding from Jesse's face, and the streaks of white had been wiped away. His eyes looked brighter, too. Even more so than usual.

Jesse McCree had very pretty eyes, even when they were upside-down, and Hanzo was finally drunk enough to admit it to himself without internally throwing a fit.

In all honesty, Hanzo could have escaped the trap time he wanted. He had at least three knives under his clothing sharp enough to cut through the low-quality hemp rope.

"Blame it on the alcohol, but I'm gettin' an idea." said Jesse, meeting Hanzo's gaze.

"What is your idea?"

"You ever seen Spiderman?" 

"I have seen Supaidaman. I do not remember it fondly."

"But have you seen the American one?" Jesse asked, eyes looking nothing short of mischievous. "One with Tobey Maguire, the little twiny kid with the big eyes?"

"I do not know who that is. What's your idea? Tell me so that I can mock you."

Jesse mumbled a string of syllables, looking at the wall to the right of Hanzo's head.

"Spit it out, McCree." Hanzo demanded.

"So pissy." Jesse said, tapping him on the nose like he was a stray cat who had done something amusing.

Hanzo swatted Jesse's hand away, and set his face in an unforgiving frown.

"Ok, look." said Jesse. "There's this part a' Spiderman where he saves Mary Jane, and she goes to thank him. And she kisses him, but he's all upside-down."

Hanzo's eyebrows raised towards the floor.

"I dunno, I've always wanted to know if that would work," Jesse continued, "kissin' somebody who's mirrored over the x-axis."

"Are you asking to kiss me?" Hanzo clarified, tossing as much stern indignation into his voice as he could to cover the giddy anxiety rapidly forming in his stomach and his newfound inability to breathe.

"I'm just sayin'." Jesse reasoned. "When am I ever gonna get this chance again? And you climb walls, and everything. It's damn near perfect."

Jesse's inverted expression and posture looked downright bashful. Hanzo's brain blew a circuit.

Jesse McCree was asking to kiss him.

' _Jesse McCree is asking to kiss me._ ' Hanzo thought. ' _Jesse "gets a thrill out of committing tax fraud" McCree._ ' 

He should probably say something.

"For reasearch purposes only?" Hanzo asked, unable to stop his smirk.

"Course, darlin'."

"Then, fine. If you must."

Jesse's smile was slow and intoxicating, upended or not.

"I'm afraid I must." Jesse replied, stepping forward. 

Hanzo's breathed hitched. It hitched again when Jesse's hands found their ways to his respective temples. And it hitched once one when--

Drunken lips tended to have an easy time finding each other.

Although most of Hanzo's brain wasn't working, he still possessed enough working neurons to appreciate the softness of Jesse's mouth and the surprise that came when lips immediately parted. Hanzo had been expecting the kiss to be chaste and quick.

Hanzo's breathing went heavy as their mouths slid together with surprising ease. It was deep and slow, with quick half-inches of air as they ghosted over each other's lips before catching them together again, dry and impossibly warm. Jesse's well-trimmed beard scratched against the skin next to Hanzo's nose. Hanzo personally thought he looked better clean-shaven, but right now, the hair served as a reminder of who he was kissing. If the timbre bubbling under Jesse's heavy breaths wasn't enough.

Hanzo was drunk on more than just alcohal.

Hanzo's arms uncrossed as he was struck with the desire to pull at Jesse's hair. However, Jesse broke the kiss with a delicate pop before he got the chance.

"Well then." Jesse said, more than a little out of breath.

"Are you satisfied?"

"I'll admit, that was pretty damn satasfying."

Hanzo silently agreed. It was hard not to smile back at Jesse's wild, stupid grin.

"I am pleased to hear it. But," Hanzo replied, wiping away any emotion from his face, except for a smirk that wouldn't leave, "if you are in need of additional data, you know where to find me."

Jesse moved a hand up to trace over Hanzo's top lip, his grin widening.

"For research purposes?" Jesse asked.

"Of course."

The second time, when Jesse leaned in, and Hanzo got that soft mouth under his own, he threaded a hand through Jesse's hair, rubbing up his neck.

"For balence." Hanzo explained against Jesse's mouth, before pushing in again. Jesse smirked.

The first real hint of Jesse's tongue was welcome, and Hanzo couldn't help but admire how much this experiment had gotten out of hand as he got a good taste of Jesse's mouth. Whiskey and cigarettes, a familiar combination. And his smell was alluring, the deep tones that Hanzo had caught from a distance a hundred times before, now amplified.

"You're good with your mouth." Jesse whispered, tracing their lips barely together for his comment before pressing forward.

Hanzo caught Jesse's bottom (top) lip against his teeth, giving it a tiny bite. He grinned when Jesse gasped. 

"Take the complement like a normal person." Jesse pleaded with a smile that Hanzo feel against his own mouth.

"Never." Hanzo replied with another kiss.

"You gotta pretty voice, too."

"Some people don't think so."

"Well, I do."

"I suppose it is nice to have a fan."

Hanzo moved his other hand down to Jesse's hair, pulling him closer as their faces worked together. Jesse brought a flesh hand into the air and traced up the silk covering Hanzo's chest, all the way to his abdomen.

"You're so..." Jesse said against Hanzo's mouth, "classy."

"Thank you. Although, because I am deeply inebriated and have--thrown all forward thinking out the window--" Hanzo struggled to reply as Jesse seemed unable to keep his mouth to himself, "I will admit you seem to have a sense of class--and higher education, as well."

"I lied about college, Hanz. I learnt about gentrification from South Park."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes, unimpressed as his fantasy of putting his company in different sets of expensive clothing were interrupted as Jesse snickered.

"Christ." Jesse said, suddenly looking to Hanzo's feet. "You've been up there for so long, and I was too distracted to think about how uncomfortable it probably is." 

Jesse pulled his body away, grabbing the other end of the rope to lower Hanzo to the ground. Hanzo caught the slow fall on his back, and untied the knot around his ankle with ease. With less dexterity than he would like, he kicked off the rope and sprung to his feet to find Jesse still dangerously close.

"Say, you wouldn't be up for one more experiment?" Jesse asked, schooling his features into a half-smile with a raised eyebrow that Hanzo knew Jesse used to get his way.

Hanzo felt the skin under his eyes turn pink.

"Which would be?" he asked back.

"Although I will say we had stunning results with you hangin', we really gotta have something to compare it to. Independent variable, and all that."

"I don't think you know what an independent variable is. What did you have in mind?"

"Nothin' but science." Jesse answered as he pressed his chest against Hanzo's. 

Hanzo fell into the cabinets behind him, and looked up to the metal hand Jesse had a few inches above their heads that gave the illusion of being boxed in. Hanzo caught Jesse sneaking a quick glance down to his mouth.

"If you must." Hanzo whispered, eyes wide.

At this point, Jesse's lips shouldn't have come at such a shock. They fit with his own even better like this, with feet on the same surface. Hanzo let his hands trace through Jesse's hair without the excuse of balance, and Jesse squeezed Hanzo's waist with his free hand. Hanzo felt himself pushing hot air into Jesse's open mouth with little pants, half from overwhelming affection, and half from newfound, warm and unthought arousal. The dual pressures of the hard wall behind him and Jesse's muscular form had Hanzo trembling with pent up energy.

"Science is fun." Jesse sighed, the air from his words pleasant against Hanzo's lips. He reached up to pull Hanzo's hair tie undone, and sighed as the black locks tumbled free.

"I fear 'science' may be relatively embarrassed tomorrow." Hanzo replied.

"Oh? Then how do I tell 'science' that this is somethin' I want to happen again, but without the booze as an excuse?"

Hanzo's heart had skipped so many beats tonight that his blood pressure had lowered, if you just looked at the average.

"'Science' may need three or so days." answered Hanzo. "Patience with 'science's' emotional shortcomings will be rewarded."

The whole "science" thing was one of the dumbest metaphors Hanzo had taken a part of, yet somehow it made things easier.

Jesse shifted his hips, pressing his hard-on against Hanzo's thigh, obvious and detailed through the thin material of Jesse's boxers.

"'Science' will need four days." Hanzo gasped, and Jesse snickered, low and buttery.

Jesse hooked both his hands under Hanzo's butt, hoisting him up by his upper thighs. Hanzo wrapped his legs around Jesse's waist, not really thinking. Jesse brought their mouths together, hungrier this time. The kiss was wet and hot and Jesse's hands squeezed his ass, and Hanzo got a taste of salt, leftover from their mutual tears--

Hanzo pushed Jesse back, lightly, with two fingers on his chest. Jesse complied, gentleman that he was, and pulled his head away and loosened his grip on Hanzo as much as he could without dropping him to the floor.

With Jesse's shallow breathing and blown-out pupils, Hanzo nearly forget why he had pulled away.

"We are drunk." Hanzo said, forcing himself to remember.

"Yeah?"

"We are _vulnerable_." 

"Ain't that the point?"

Hanzo pursed his lips. 

"I found you but an hour ago, on the floor, sprawled out like a cry for help. Do you understand my hesitation?" he asked.

"You worried I don't really want this? Cause if you want me to admit I've wanted to kiss you since the third time you told me I was a pathetic bumpkin who would never amount to anything, I will."

Hanzo smiled tentitivly.

"It is mutual." he admitted, looking away as his heart, still flush against Jesse's chest, pounded heavily.

Jesse flashed another slow smile. 

"Really, now?" he asked.

"We have--" Hanzo started.

"Have you been pinin' for me, sugar cake?"

Jesse's smile was insufferable. Hanzo took it as an excuse to ignore the question.

"We have been crying." Hanzo said. "I do not wish to--"

"Cause I've been pining for you. You don't even know--"

Hanzo covered Jesse's hand with his mouth.

"What you did for me tonight, how we saw each other," Hanzo continued, smile faltering and blood running cold as he realized how terrified he was to speak his mind, "was very special to me. Even though if we...let this play out...I don't believe I would regret it, I want to completely cut out the risk that it would be an act of emotional desperation."

Jesse lowered Hanzo to the ground for the second time today, and pulled him into the sweetest hug of his life, only minorly undercut by Jesse's undying erection.

"Sorry 'bout that." said Jesse, chuckling sheepishly.

"The only thing you need to apologize for is lowering my expectations."

Jesse loosened his arms to step back and meet Hanzo's gaze.

"I'd be happy to do just about anything with you." Jesse said, and then looked embarrassed. "If I'm bein' perfectly honest, sex just seemed like an easy way to get you to stay."

Hanzo closed his eyes.

"You flatter me with your emotional inadequacy." he said.

"I speak my mind and if you choose to take it as flattery, that's your problem."

Hanzo led Jesse by the hand to his couch, sinking down into the familiar, cold leather as Jesse pulled out a sleeve of poptarts from between two cushions. Hanzo ignored it, and let his feet fall into Jesse's lap, looking away as his confidence faltered. The alcohol was fleeting.

Jesse pulled Hanzo all the way into his lap, chin against his hair. It bounced as Jesse chewed.

"Hanz?" Jesse asked.

"What?"

Jesse reached out to tuck a chunk of Hanzo's air behind his ear.

"We just kissed, right?" Jesse continued. "And admitted we were in love with each other through a series of purposefully complex, childish metaphors? I ain't readin' this wrong, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, gee, should we talk about that?"

Jesse's smile was deep and content, and Hanzo couldn't help but pull the man's neck down for a sugary kiss.

"We have much to discuss." Hanzo answered, pulling away. "A thousand reasons why we shouldn't be together,--"

"We could make plans to run away to Iceland. Get away from all this war--" Jesse interrupted.

"such as my emotional failings, driving you further from me,--" Hanzo interrupted right back, trying and failing to finish his sentence. 

"maybe settle down with a bar, watch over some small, celtic town,--"

"our inevitable falling out that will leave us sullen and bitter and unable to go back to our old friendship,--" 

"God, Hanz, you're gonna look so hot when you go grey--"

"Even if we did make it as a couple, it's a statistical probability that at least one of us will face a pre-mature death--"

"Do you want kids? I want kids."

Hanzo couldn't help but snicker at Jesse's eyes, so full of genuine hope.

"You're so beautiful." Jesse sighed, eyes falling half-closed.

Hanzo's smile faltered.

"It's embarrassin' how long I've wanted to tell you." Jesse followed.

"Why did you not?" Hanzo asked, breath catching in his throat.

"On a good day I'd say it was cause I didn't want to loose your friendship. On a more honest day, I'd admit it was because I'm a coward."

"Tell me again." 

"That you're beautiful?"

"That you love me." Hanzo whispered, suddenly feeling much younger than he was.

Jesse pulled Hanzo's face up until they were at the same height.

"Hanzo Shimada." Jesse started, and Hanzo couldn't help but chuckle at how serious he looked. "I am in love with you. Have been for two years, and told no one but Genji, repeatedly, everyday."

Hanzo's lips fell against Jesse's one more time, overjoyed by his ability to do so freely. 

They kissed for far too long, and Hanzo pulled away as things started to grow more heated, even though it had been party his own fault.

"You may make as much love to me as you would like, but tomorrow, you horny degenerate." Hanzo said with a wicked smiled as he pried Jesse's hand from his butt.

"Oh, baby doll, that is not an option you wanna give me." Jesse replied, low and rough, but playful enough to be greeted with a punch on the shoulder.

Hanzo fell into Jesse's chest, suddenly needing to gulp in as much of his scent as possible. Every moment or so, he looked up at the man scarfing down poptarts, reveling in the reminder of who was holding him, just needing to _make sure_.

Hanzo fell into Jesse's chest, suddenly needing to gulp in as much of his scent as possible. Every moment or so, he looked up at the man munching poptarts, reveling in the reminder of who was holding him, needing to  _make sure_.

"You up for a movie?" Jesse asked. "We ain't got anything tomorrow."

"What movie?"

"You seen Unforgiven? Been meanin' to show you Unforgiven."

"I have seen it. Stop asking."

Jesse chuckled.

"Here is a list of movies I would find to be acceptable." Hanzo followed. "I will watch Fantastic Planet, Naked Lunch, and nothing else."

"I ain't ever watchin' Naked Lunch with you again. Why do you always wanna watch movies that make the same amount a' sense backwards as they do forwards?"

"It is an art! Too sophisticated for you to under--stop kissing me, it's distracting."

"Ok, you've given your list." Jesse replied, "Here's mine. I'll sit through anything by Sergio Leone. And if you ain't--don't gimme that look--if you ain't up for a Western, I'd be down for anything John Carpenter directed, or anything with Kurt Russel in it. And if you really don't want linear story telling, I'll watch Pulp Fiction, at least the first forty min--"

Hanzo pulled Jesse down and slotted their mouths together, unable to help himself. He allowed himself three presses and one flicker of tongue before he pulled away.

"Would you watch Metamorphosis?" asked Hanzo.

"Does it have a plot? Weird and fuckin' crazy abstract shit where no one can tell what's a multi-layered metaphor and what ain't don't count as a plot."

"Castle in the Sky?"

"Sure. Perfect."

"I will only watch the Japanese version."

"Nope, no way. Gimme a different movie."

Hanzo thought for a minute.

"What was the trilogy you showed me with all the old, medieval war?" Hanzo asked. "You referred to it a staple of pop-culture?" 

"Gotta give me more than that."

"It was very homoerotic."

"Lord of the Rings?"

"Yes." Hanzo recalled, snapping his fingers. "Show me that."

"You wanna watch a three hour movie?" Jesse asked. "I mean, I ain't complainin', as long as you're in my arms for it."

Hanzo giggled for half a second before he came to his senses.

"Yes." he said. "Especially the part in the begining, with the short, happy middle-class farmers."

"Fucking christ, Hanz, you are a damn delight." Jesse purred.

Hanzo flushed at his own smile as Jesse set up the movie, and wrapped them both in blankets. 

Jesse's arms were very, very warm, and the kiss Hanzo got on his forehead was very, very soft.

They were going to have a lot to talk about tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it, but someone drew art of my upside-down kiss! You can check out the art and their tumblr right [here](https://youtu.be/lul-Y8vSr0I?t=52).
> 
> also feel free to comment, I like talking to people and I'm always bored all the time college wasn't as hard as everyone said


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